


The Last Firefly of the Season

by fringeperson



Category: Firefly, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky teaching girls how to be badasses, Don't copy to another site, Gen, the cover story is mostly the truth and that makes it easier to remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: It wasn't the first time he'd been defrosted for training purposes. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to escape his handlers. It was the first time he'd escaped with the person he was supposed to be training though.~Originally posted in '15
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & River Tam
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Last Firefly of the Season

“It's true that there are dangers on the outer planets,” the teacher allowed carefully, neutrally. “So, with so many social and medical advancements we can bring to the independents, why would they fight so hard against us?”

“We meddle.”

“River?”

“People don't like to be meddled with. We tell them what to do, what to think. Don't run, don't walk. We're in their homes, and in their heads, and we haven't the right,” River declared softly, but no less earnestly for that. “We're meddlesome.”

“River,” the teacher scolded gently, and took River's twitching stylus from her fingers. “We're not telling people what to think. We're just trying to show them how.”

That was her last day in regular classes. She was moved after that. Into the basement levels where all the walls were sound-proofed and every door had a coded lock.

At first, it was just 'advancement'. She went from calculating flight trajectories on her datapad to sitting in a simulator, often alone, and having to make her calculations in her head as she 'flew' whatever craft the simulator was set up as. That sort of thing.

It didn't last long.

To be granted 'advancement' was one thing. To be 'elevated' was completely another. The former had been enjoyable, challenging. The latter... the latter had a Chair, and needles, and pain, and then a room that was completely white except for the little black orbs in the corners that were surveillance equipment, and a man.

A man with brown hair that fell to his shoulders, blue eyes that were all at once life and death and grief and apathy and soulless and broken and blank and fighting and... and his left arm was not flesh. She'd never seen a person who had an inorganic body-part before.

~oOo~

The man with the inorganic arm became her personal trainer and apart from Doctor Matthias, her sole point of human contact. While conscious, at least. She was told to address him as Soldier, and nothing else. Not even 'sir', just Soldier.

He began by teaching her how to move, how to be completely aware of her body and her environment. He taught her how to fight barehanded, with a knife, with a sword, with an axe, with whatever came to hand. He taught her how to shoot a pistol, how to settle into a snipers position and wait patiently for that perfect shot, and of course gun maintenance. He rewarded her for her diligence in these disciplines by teaching her how to dance – box step first, then waltz, cha cha, swing, jive, the lindy hop, tango, rhumba, samba, salsa, and when they ran out of ballroom and dance-hall styles, he taught her ballet.

He taught her to read and speak in languages from Earth-That-Was, which she enjoyed. Russian was first, then German, French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, Hebrew, and Hindi. He even taught her Latin. No one used those languages any more, except for the Latin, which was entrenched in legal, medical, and every flavour of scientific jargon.

Slowly, so very slowly, she watched and heard and felt as the Soldier's personality begins to come through. With the speed of glaciers moving across the land, he became less and less an automaton and more and more a person.

It's in the way that, on her sixteenth birthday, he quietly informed her that “sweet sixteen means you're a Dame now, an' in charge of yourself, not a Baby Doll to be kept an' minded by her menfolk any more,” while he was holding her close. He'd just dipped her, and was about to tango-drop her, so his mouth was literally an inch from her ear.

It's in the way he called her 'Frauline' when he's teaching her the sword, like it's a warrior's title and a declaration of her own empowerment. The way he called her 'prima diva' with a tease in his tone, when she was focused on getting a ballet step just right. The way he held her close to his heart, gently rocking her as he sang songs from Earth-That-Was into her ear, when she'd come back from The Chair.

The way he helped her plan her escape, and the way he looked at her when she vowed that she would _not_ leave him behind – for his sake, not just because she didn't want to have to run from him.

~oOo~

“How's freedom taste?” Soldier asked, a smirk on his face and his flesh arm slung around River's waist. His inoganic appendage was tucked away inside the man's kimono he'd bought. It was a common enough style to walk around with one arm cradled within the garment, resting in the quasi-sling created by the garment and the obi. Ironically enough, that particular manner for wearing the kimono was called 'the wounded soldier'.

“Like dog,” River answered with a smirk of her own as she wiped some of the sauce off her chin, a flat-bread in one hand, with barbecued dog-meat, sauces and seasoning inside. “Want some?”

“When in Rome,” he allowed, and bent down to take a bite from the 'local delicacy'. He chewed thoughtfully.

“Well, дед?” she teased. Grandfather.

“Watch it,” he warned, only half playfully. “I'm not that old.”

“You mean you're not that young,” River countered breezily. She had been addressing him by various nicknames and teases since they escaped. There was no good to be had in inviting trouble by her calling him Soldier all the time. “You didn't answer my question.”

“You were right,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. “Tastes like dog.”

River giggled.

“I'm guessing you've had enough of this rock though, since we haven't left spitting distance of the docks for the past hour,” River said archly as she took back her food.

“We got good money for the junker we literally pulled off the garbage heap back on Osiris, but we're going to need a whole lot more than just money if we're going to survive, little поток,” he reminded her firmly. River, поток, potok. Probably they should speak less Russian if they didn't want to get spotted, but names and nicknames... well. Some of the names people were giving their kids these days were peculiar in comparison. Besides, no one really knew to recognise Russian, or to be suspicious of people speaking it. Not even the Academy people were aware of every pebble of knowledge that the Soldier had dropped into the flow of the River.

“Regular income will be required,” River stated, “also transport, as staying in one place too long is unsafe. Job on a ship? Or acquire ship and run jobs from it?”

“Being the person contacted and contracted requires being memorable, building a reputation,” the Soldier stated, and shook his head in the negative.

River nodded slowly in understanding acceptance.

“Options are join a ship's crew, or find an acceptable middle-man to contract jobs on our behalf,” River listed off. “Neither option is... optimal. Bounty hunting also inadvisable, as likely will be targets of such ourselves.”

“Which ship do you like the look of?” the Soldier asked with a smile. “Which crew do you like the feel of?” he asked more softly.

“Coming in to land in three, two,” River answered, voice soft and distant and eyes tracing the movement of a ship that the Soldier hadn't picked out yet. “You don't leave a place like Serenity, you learn to carry it with you.”

She pointed.

A firefly class ship, only just landed, lowered its cargo bay doors.

“This shouldn't take too long. Put us down for departure in about three hours,” a man in a brown coat said as he led the way down. “Grab any supplies we're low on, fuel 'er up.”

A man in yellow cover-alls immediately turned back into the ship.

“Sure would like a new compression coil,” a young woman with a shiny Chinese jacket over her own cover-alls said hopefully to the instruction-giving man. “For the -”

“And I'd like to be the king of all Londinium,” he cut her off gently, “and wear a shiny hat. Just get us some passengers,” he instructed. He immediately twitched and added a conditional. “Them as can pay. Alright?”

“Compression coil busts, we're drifting,” the girl warned him.

“Best not bust then,” he said before he turned to leave the ship behind, two of the others of the crew flanking him.

“That's the ship you want?” the Soldier asked, a little surprised by the choice, at the same time though, he really wasn't. The captain looked like a Browncoat, which would almost definitely be in their favour, but the mechanic (because no one else would ask for a compression coil) was making important complaints that were not being addressed.

“Crew has no coin,” River stated, her voice soft as she answered his thoughts, rather than his spoken words. “Cannot buy the necessities, even second hand, if there is no coin.”

Soldier tilted his head in concession to the point.

“Will be required to give names,” River pointed out. “He will answer to his first name, given by his father.”

“I'm finally together enough you could find that?” he asked, almost breathless. Pieces of his life had been coming back. Habits, instinctual reactions, but always through a filter of who he had been made to be. Whoever he was originally was lost, and he had to accept that, but his name...

River had been looking for his name since she'd been made a Reader.

“He is James Buchanan Barnes,” River supplied with a solemn nod. “She will be Margaret 'Peggy' Carter.”

“Steve's dame,” the Soldier supplied at once, then blinked. He didn't know who Steve was, he didn't know where those words had come from, but he knew they were true. Whoever Peggy Carter had been, she was Steve's dame.

“Will serve until ruse no longer required.”

“Alright,” he said, and internalised the name. He was James Buchanan Barnes. Something within him tacked on 'call me Buck,' to that. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

River smiled back.

“You to take the lead,” she stated.

“Right,” the Soldier, no, Buck, said. He wrapped his arm around River (Peggy now, must remember to call her Peggy) again, and walked up to where the mechanic (she was pretty, even with dirt all on her face and in her cover-alls, she really was pretty) was settling in to look out for customers.

“Excuse me,” Buck said with a smile, “but my cousin and I heard, I'm assuming, your captain say something about taking passengers?”

“He surely did,” the pretty young lady confirmed with a bright smile as she abandoned taking a seat to give them her full attention. “I'm Kaylee, ship's mechanic, an' this here's _Serenity_. She's the smoothest ride from here to Boros for those who can pay.”

River smiled.

“Yeah, we heard the captain say something about paying passengers,” Buck said with a chuckle. “I promise, we can pay.”

River, as the one wearing obvious pockets, carried their wallet. Buck, as the one wearing clothes that draped some, carried a small armoury's worth of weaponry strapped to his person. River only had a small blade in her boot, a set of stilettos holding her hair in place, and a pea-shooter of a handgun at the small of her back, beneath her shirt.

They may have robbed the Academy, just a little bit, on their way out.

“How much?” River asked.

“I'll leave you to haggle,” Buck declared with a smile, “and grab our bags from where we left 'em. Don't wander off, alright?”

“I promise,” River agreed, and waved him off. “Don't kill anyone just because they'll try and rob you.”

“I'll try and keep a lid on it,” Buck chuckled.

“Um...” the mechanic hesitated.

“He'll be fine,” River assured her.

Buck returned less than an hour later with two barrel bags hanging over his shoulder, held by his flesh hand. The inorganic one still hidden within the folds of his kimono.

~oOo~

“Meals are taken up here in the dining area,” the captain, one Malcolm 'Mal' Reynolds, said as essentially the conclusion of the tour of the ship, which had only really begun after they'd hit the black. “Kitchen's pretty much self-explanatory. You're welcome to what there is at any time, though what there is, is pretty standard fare: protein in every colour of the rainbow. We do have sit-down meals, next one being at about eighteen-hundred.”

Which was very civilised for a raggedy looking crew like this one. Then again, the kitchen and dining area was painted a cheerful yellow with floral patterns all over. That could be a woman's touch, but the first mate didn't look the type to do it, and the mechanic (the only other woman aboard) was likely far too busy with the engine to be painting the kitchen.

Buck privately suspected that the pretty paint job was actually the captain's own doing, and cut a quick glance at River.

Ever-so-slightly, she nodded.

“I think Shepherd Book has offered to help me prepare something,” Kaylee the mechanic interjected.

The greying gentleman with the coffee-coloured skin and the particularly-collared shirt smiled and nodded to her in confirmation.

“You're a Shepherd?” the captain asked, surprised.

“Thought the outfit gave it away?” the old man asked as he turned towards the younger man, but his jovial smile faded in the face of the captain's near dead-eyed look. “Is that a problem?” he queried, concerned now that he'd just sentenced himself to a long, uncomfortable ride.

“Of course not!” Kaylee protested at once, smile still present. “It's not a problem, 'cause it's... not.”

“No,” the captain agreed, though he didn't seem exactly enthused about the idea of having a pious man on his ship. “As I said,” he continued, getting the discussion back to where he'd had it before the interruption and discretion. “You're welcome to visit the dining area at any time. Apart from that, I must ask you to stay in the passenger dorm while we're in the air. The bridge, the engine room, cargo bay, they're all off-limits without an escort.”

“I understand why not the first two, but not the third,” River admitted, her face scrunched in confusion. It was an act. She could read every person present. She wanted to hear the words said though, wished to hear the excuse that would be given.

“Because the unlikely and the unfortunate feels like it's always happenin' to us, and I wouldn't like for anything that we've got in there to catch you about if we suddenly have to be doin' some quick movin',” Mal excused. “Figure you all got luggage you need to get into though, and we'll be happy to fetch 'em with you once we're done here.”

“I take that comment to mean that we're not, even though it would otherwise sound like we are,” Soldier commented.

Mal nodded as he stood straight and moved to stand more central to the space.

“I have to tell y'all one other thing, and I apologise for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, we have been ordered by the Alliance to drop some medical supplies off on Whitefall,” the captain explained. “It's the fourth moon on Athens. It's a little out of our way, but we should have y'all on Boros no more than a day off schedule. Zoe, you want to take 'em down to the cargo bay?”

“Yes Sir,” Zoe answered easily, and stepped up.

“Anything else you need, just ask,” Mal said as the passengers – the Shepherd, River and the Soldier were it – fell in slowly behind the first mate. “We, ah, we're here to serve.”

River and the Soldier, as they only had a single bag each, just retreated to their assigned bunks and saw to making themselves comfortable.

~oOo~

“I believe in miracles,” Buck declared when he entered the dining area with River for the eighteen-hundred sit-down meal and saw real food being cooked in the kitchen.

River slapped his chest in scolding.

“Where did this come from?” the Soldier asked, ignoring the girl's displeasure smoothly. It wasn't like it was an earnest displeasure, or she'd have done more than slapped his chest, especially so lightly.

“I had a garden at the abbey,” the Shepherd answered with a smile as he continued to slice a tomato – Kaylee had charge of the stove. “Thought I should bring what I could, but the fresh stuff won't last, and it's not as good frozen.”

“Are we too late to help at all?” Buck asked next. “Peggy here could stand to have some cooking lessons. She can cook anything nutritious, but the taste leaves something to be desired more often than not.”

This time, River punched him, hard, in the arm.

“I'm always gonna be honest about where your skills are at,” the Soldier reminded the girl in stern reprimand. “No need to get angry at me for it.”

“We're pretty much done,” Kaylee said, cutting off any fight between the two passengers before it could really get started. “Just gotta get it all on the table and get to eatin' it now.”

Other persons of the crew, and the remaining passenger, showed up in somewhat rapid succession as the food was being shifted to the table. While everybody else sat, the first mate stood over and loaded up a plate, which she carried away towards the bridge while there was still the general “could you please pass the -” mumblings.

“Captain, do you mind if I say grace?” the Shepherd asked.

“Only if you say it out loud,” Mal answered shortly and with honest frankness, before he took a bite of his food. Clearly, he would not be waiting for the meal to be blessed before he partook.

Around the table, heads bowed, following the Shepherd's example. River and the Soldier's as well, though the little prayers they whispered in their minds over their food were different to the ones given by the others.

“I don't remember the last time I had real food,” Buck admitted as he collected up a mouthful-worth between his chopsticks.

“You don't remember a lot of things,” River snarked.

“No need to be mean about it Peggy,” the Soldier scolded. “Just 'cause I let slip you can't cook -”

“Wait a bit, back up,” Kaylee requested, a confused, concerned frown on her face. “What's Peggy sayin' about you?”  
“Had a nasty accident in the war,” River supplied before the Soldier could answer for himself. “His long-term memory is patchy. I had to tell him his own name.”

“You were in the war?” Mal asked as his first mate returned and took her seat by him.

“It's what they tell me,” Buck agreed with a sigh. “Peggy ain't tellin' me what side I fought for though, and I can't remember for myself. Hell, I was back in what I was told was my own bed by the time the drugs wore off enough I could make sense of where I was.”

“Drugs?” Jayne, the gun-hand, asked.

Buck set his chopsticks down and rapped his knuckles against the metal of his shoulder, so that they could all hear that it was metal under there, and not flesh.

“I ain't hiding it because it's pretty,” the Soldier said firmly.

There was a distinctly uncomfortable silence that followed that statement. The two browncoats knew better than to offer any kind of empty platitude. They were the last left alive from their unit, they knew what sort of hardship that war had been. For both sides. The preacher was old enough to know that no platitudes, and certainly no pity, would help. Jayne just straight up didn't know what to say to something like that.

Kaylee finally spoke.

“If it gives you any trouble, I'm happy to help,” she offered. “A prosthetic arm ain't what I usually work on, but I'm pretty sure I could figure out any problems real quick.”

“Lil Kaylee's got a gift for anything mechanical,” Mal asserted softly.

“It's nothin' special,” Kaylee denied modestly. “Machines just got workin's an'... they talk to me.”

“Appreciated,” Buck said with a nod to Kaylee. “An' if Peggy could watch? She's a quick study, but mechanics wasn't ever somethin' her folks approved of her learning.”

“If I wasn't studying how to be pretty or be quiet, they didn't approve of my learning. _Ge-ge_ did, but then he went and became a doctor and forgot about me. It was all _Tommy this and Tommy that_ ,” River complained.

“Yer brother's name was Tommy?” Jayne asked.

River shook her head.

“An' that there is another reason why her folks didn't approve of Peggy,” Buck declared, his chopsticks pointed at the girl. “She'd be talking in a perfectly reasonable manner one second, and go off on a riddling confusion the next. I think that was a poetic reference -”

“Rudyard Kipling,” River interjected solemnly.

“Peggy's mostly there like I'm mostly there. We both function fine most of the time, but we've got our moments,” Buck explained.

“It's why we stuck together when her family couldn't handle her crazy-speak any more, and his were all dead anyway,” River supplied.


End file.
